


Just an Accident

by ImBackBoi



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cass is there but she literally says nothing, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Fusion/AU, Supposed to be funny, Yaaay Magic!, so you can't even see or hear her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26107480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBackBoi/pseuds/ImBackBoi
Summary: Alfred tells the stories of each First Magic incident that he can remember.
Relationships: Alfred and The Kids, Thomas/Martha Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Just an Accident

**Author's Note:**

> I stress write. This is a one shot prototype for an Idea I was briefly toying with. Don't expect much from this universe.
> 
> It was fun though!

Alfred would never forget Bruce's first magic. He'd been young. So, very young.

Not even out of the crib.

A fearsome storm had blown in from the east, bringing with it hurricane force winds, pelting rain that threatened the windows, lightning and thunder that shook the Manor down to its very foundations. The hour had been late, the Masters already fast asleep with little Bruce snuggled down in his crib.

Barely two years of age.

Alfred himself had been sitting up in his room with a nice cuppa and a book, attempting and failing to read.

Thunder sounded too much like heavy artillery, the hail too much like gunfire, the wind like the screaming. It was while the wind was in its death throes that he noticed the little bats.

Silver, pearly, translucent bats.

_A patronus?_

But who? Mistress Wayne was a squib like himself and Thomas had barely the power to cast a lumos-

_Bruce._

Alfred shot to his feet and bolted out of his room, stopping dead in the hallway. Hundreds of tiny bats fluttered errantly, bopping into the ceiling, ramming headfirst into the walls.

“ _Master Bruce!_ ”

The butler raced towards the nursery – little glowing bats everywhere – and found, upon his arrival, the Masters already there, and little Bruce screaming bloody murder, completely red faced.

“Thank God!” Martha was standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped about her child. The toddler seemed to have a death grip on her hair. She looked harried and worn out and so relieved to see him -

“What the devil is going on?” Alfred stared, “There are bats by the thousands!”

“I know!” Thomas brushed the ceiling with a broom, he seemed cheerful despite the screaming, “A patronus! At two! Take that, you old bastard.”

“Now is not the time, Thomas!” Martha snapped, “Just get rid of them. Oh! I miss that house elf!”

“Never fear, we shall have them out before long.”

Alfred rolled up his sleeves and between him and Thomas, it only took another hour to catch all the _living_ bats and remove them from the room, all the while listening to little Bruce scream bloody murder and mourning the loss of his hearing.

“ _Why did Grandmother not simply take Father from the room?”_

“ _She tried, but upon my entry, the young master apparently magically locked the door and none could exit until all the bats had been caught.”_

_Laughter._

“ _So, Father could cast a patronus at two years of ago. At two, mother said I also had had my first magical incident, surely I shall be as great as he.”_

_A snort._

“ _Sure, demon.”_

“ _Shut up, Drake.”_

“ _Hey, Alfie, tell them about my first magic in the manor.”_

“ _Hmm. Well.. It had started off as any other day, excepting that I could not find the new young master...”_

“Master Richard!” the call echoed down the hall.

“Master Richard?” Alfred poked his head into the library, one of the least likely places the butler expected to find his young charge, but still a place to check. Empty.

He was not in his room. Or Bruce's. Or any other bedrooms. Or the kitchen. Any of the dens. Ballroom. Living rooms. Offices. Bathrooms. The dining rooms – great, small, and family. The solarium. The attic. The basement. Wine cellar. Music room. Outside.

“Lord,” Alfred sat upon the grand steps leading to the second floor, face in his hands, “Have mercy on me, I've lost the child.”

He sighed.

“How I miss that house elf.”

“You guys have a house elf?! That's so cool!”

Alfred froze. Then craned his head upwards toward the ceiling and gaped unbecomingly.

“Hey, Alfie,” young Master Richard waved cheerfully from the chandelier, “How's it hanging?”

“Young master, come down here right now!”

“Awwe,” the young master clung to the stem of the chandelier and began to rock back and forth, like a great, beautifully gilt and delicate swing that was horrendously expensive. “Only if you call me Dick.”

The noise Alfred made was not impressed.

“Fine, young Master Dick, do come down this instant.”

Master Dick pouted gloriously for a moment, then began to disentangle himself from the fixture. He froze dramatically when there was a great cracking noise and the ceiling spider-webbed above him. The chandelier dropped a few inches – a foot -

Dick screamed.

Alfred could only watch in terror as the gilt frame and crystals and chains and glass hurtled towards the ground, crashed into the marble floor, and began bouncing away. The screams turned into laughter as the boy in the chandelier bubble bounced into the ballroom.

Alfred followed in a daze.

They remained there for the next hour, Master Dick ping ponging around the room until Master Bruce came home.

_Laughter. Uproarious, gut-busting laughter._

“ _Oh man, that was the best. I still can't believe I was able to hold on to that for so long.”_

“ _Yes, quite impressive.”_

“ _-tt- Not as impressive as Father's though.”_

“ _It's not a competition, Lil' D.”_

“ _Tim, now. Please.”_

“ _Ah, my dear, I regret to inform you that Master Timothy never had any accidental magic inside the manor.” A pause, “However, that does not mean he never had any.”_

“ _Alfred. No-!”_

“ _Many years ago, when one Timothy Drake was still very much a young boy, his parents took him to the circus...”_

Small Timothy was an avid fan of the circus, and one year, his parents took him there for his birthday. He had loved it so much (according to the Drake's house elf, Mrs. Mac, who was very forthcoming with this information), that he wanted to try flying, too.

Just like the Graysons.

So, one day he decided to make his way to the roof with a pair of makeshift wings made out of who knows what, and jump off as far as he could and fly high as he might.

_Loud choking._

“ _Tim, you didn't!”_

“ _Shut up, I was three!”_

“ _A shame you did not rid us of you moronic existence with that stunt, Drake.”_

“ _Dami!”_

Mrs. Mac had just discovered the boy was missing and had gone to fetch him. She spotted him right before he leapt majestically off of the roof and watched, terrified, rooted to the spot as he began to plummet from the sky. Apparently, before the house elf could gather her magic, the boy ultimately decided he did not like this kind of flying, and with a _crack!_ He vanished from the air and re-appeared on the ground, right in front of the terrified house elf and said, “I don't like that. May I have some cookies, please?”

Poor, Mrs. Mac.

“ _Holy shit, Tim.”_

_Awe. Terror._

_A cough._

“ _Apparition while moving is pretty damn cool, huh, Dami?”_

“ _-tt-”_

“ _Oookay. Anyways, who's next? What about Jason? Or Cass?”_

“ _Jokes on you, Dick-head, I don't have magic.”_

“ _Bullshit.”_

It was and it wasn't.

Jason, once, as a boy, had confided to Alfred that he felt the warmth in his chest. The energy. The burning need to expel it in anyway he could – but couldn't.

“It feels trapped,” the young teen explained tearfully, “and I can't let it out. I'm cursed. I can see it. I feel it. The rush in my veins. I know it's there, but there's something in the way. A wall. Like ice, and I feel sick.”

Jason had yanked on his hair.

“Useless!”

Curse of the first born. A blood curse. A family curse.

Then Jason died. Then Jason came back.

Now, he was a void. A black hole that sucked everything in and let nothing out. Negating anything and everything around that tried to touch him.

He had no magic.

“ _I came back from the dead, doesn't that count for something?”_

But that didn't mean that magic affected him.

The others didn't know this, and if they suspected, they didn't mention it.

Alfred would keep this dangerous secret for eternity.

“ _We'll talk about this later.”_

“ _Ooh, what about Cass?”_

“ _Whatever.”_

“ _Ah, Miss Brown, I'm afraid Miss Cassandra's first magic happened long before she came to us.”_

“ _Aww...” A pause, “Do you want to hear about mine?”_

“ _-tt- No.”_

“ _Absolutely!”_

“ _Grayson, no.”_

“ _Okay, guys, listen up..._ One morning, I wanted waffles, and waffles I _got...”_


End file.
